"It won't be that easy, Mr. Watson. We've been dealing with those Frenchmen for centuries upon centuries—they won't loosen their grip on something they consider theirs without putting up a formidable fight."
Facing the elegant reframing proposal Bryan had laid out—Barnah showed not a single flicker of delight.
The goblin kept its face arranged in its mournful scowl. It sighed heavily, then sighed again, as if the weight of its burdens was simply too much for one elderly goblin to bear.
"The way I see it, having dealt with the French Ministry through many different administrations and many different generations of their wizards, their only real aim is to have the goblins leave behind a sum of gold galleons. A sum generous enough to satisfy their sense of having won something."
Barnah shot a quick, calculating glance at Bryan.
The faint smile at the corner of the wizard's mouth hadn't shifted an inch in any direction.
The goblin's drooping eyelids gave a small, uneasy flutter.
"But you know how difficult that particular solution is at present, Mr. Watson. The goblins have just made the largest single investment in the entire history of our community—one that it may not return its principal for a century or more."
Barnah spread its hands in a gesture of eloquent helplessness.
"We no longer have the means to simultaneously feed the French Ministry's insatiable appetite for compensation."
"So then?"
Bryan lifted his teacup and took a leisurely sip.
He set the cup down with a gentle clink.
"You need me to give you more assistance in this matter?"
'Cunning creature.'
Both the man and the goblin in office were thinking the same thing of each other at this moment.
Bryan could read the performance plainly enough. The misery etched across the old goblin's face was theatre. The true reason for this visit at this particular hour was completely something else.
Barnah, for its part, was thinking:
The goblins' current predicament—caught between French institutional pressure on one side and the uncertain return timeline of their enormous British investment on the other—had come totally from throwing their lot in with Watson's plans.
And yet there sat Watson, as though none of the resulting complications had anything to do with him. As though the whole complex, grinding mess were the goblins' own problem to solve alone, and he was merely offering a friendly hand in passing, out of the goodness of their long acquaintance.
But no matter how much resentment churned in its belly, Barnah had no practical choice but to swallow it.
The arrow had already left the bow. The goblins had planted their banner firmly and publicly behind Bryan Watson and his vision for a different relationship between their kind and the wizarding world. There was no switching allegiances now without catastrophic loss of credibility and investment.
And Barnah knew very well: When facing someone like Bryan Watson, the only workable approach was careful appeasement. Show force, and he would simply out-force you.
As for making threats—that would be stupidity of the highest order, and Barnah had not survived hundreds of years in goblin banking through stupidity.
Countless precedents, accumulated over his time working with this wizard, had made one thing clear: Bryan Watson didn't hold rules and laws in quite the same regard that Dumbledore did.
"You know, Mr. Watson—"
Barnah exhaled a long, heavy sigh.
"I have been bearing enormous pressure from within my own community regarding our deepened cooperation with the British Ministry. Many of the most respected goblin elders have been quite displeased with the direction I have taken.
They believe I should not have staked everything on an investment so fraught with risk. One that, in the short term, shows no signs of yielding any return."
As the words drew to their end, Barnah slowed its speech and watched Bryan's expression with great attention.
"No signs of any return in the short term?"
The curve at the corner of Bryan's mouth deepened very slightly. He spoke slowly and with complete calm.
"Where exactly does that come from, Barnah? If you are suggesting that I have not honoured the commitments I made to your community—"
"I have no such intention whatsoever, Mr. Watson!"
Barnah flinched with alarm—cold sweat broke out across its face in an instant.
"I know you have borne tremendous pressure in honouring your promises to the goblin community. But in terms of the practical numbers....."
Barnah chose its next words with extraordinary care.
"Without question, if the numbers allocated in the relevant areas could be somewhat more generous, it would surely help silence the voices of dissent. It would give me something concrete to show the sceptics—so that our goblins might unite as one, speak with one voice, and overcome the difficulties the French Ministry has placed before us."
"How many do you want?"
Bryan asked the question with perfect composure looking neither surprised nor troubled by the request. He set his teacup on the table and watched Barnah with patient attention.
Barnah hesitated before slowly reluctantly spreading five fingers.
"You know you're asking for the moon, Barnah—"
Bryan shook his head.
"That number already exceeds any defensible headcount for an exchange delegation." His tone left no room for argument.
"Let's do this—"
A brief pause, then Bryan named his limit.
"Double the original five. I'll give you ten spots."
Barnah opened its mouth with the clear intention of pressing further.
Bryan's voice dropped half a register sounding very steady.
"That is the absolute limit of what I can accept, Barnah. I trust you don't believe I have unlimited power to do as I please regardless of any other consideration?"
Barnah hadn't quite given up the field—
But at that moment, before the negotiation could continue further, Bryan's brow furrowed slightly. His gaze drifted toward the office door.
"I'm afraid this meeting will have to end here, Barnah. An unexpected visitor has arrived somewhere in the Ministry. If I'm not mistaken in my reading of the situation, they've come specifically to see me."
When Barnah left, its expression was heavy—yet the moment it stepped out of the office, its footsteps turned remarkably light. Bryan watched until it disappeared around the staircase landing, then let out a quiet sigh.
He could see it clearly enough. The old goblin had come today simply to try its luck—to test the edges of what remained available, to squeeze whatever additional commitment could be extracted while the opening existed.
Whatever number of extra spots he'd agreed to, Barnah would have accepted them with a satisfied expression.
In truth, it needn't have been so roundabout. Given the goodwill between them, he would have extended that courtesy regardless of any of today's manoeuvring.
But Bryan couldn't truly blame Barnah for the sudden distance it maintained in his presence.
He understood where that distance came from.
It had begun when he'd used Harry's prosecution by the Ministry to topple Fudge. Then had come his role in driving the forceful rise of Amelia Bones to the Minister's position. Then had come the Battle of Diagon Alley, fought before hundreds of watching eyes, publicly matching Voldemort blow for blow.
With each of those events, the weight of his authority had grown heavier in the perception of the wizarding world.
In the view of many discerning minds across the European wizarding community—he now stood with unrivalled practical power. The backing of the British Ministry of Magic. The implicit endorsement of Albus Dumbledore. His own demonstrated magical capability that had no obvious ceiling.
And so it was that even Barnah, who might reasonably be called an old friend, now moved around him with careful restraint.
The higher one climbs, the colder the air.
It was no different anywhere, in any era, among any people.
Yet this kind of surface authority ad never been what Bryan sought or wanted. On the contrary: carrying so much of it was, to him, a genuine burden.
The reason he hadn't stepped away from it—the reason he'd allowed himself to be drawn deeper was only because—
Bryan paced slowly to the centre of the office, to the square table.
A small movement of his fingers and the black shroud draped over the table wafted up on an unseen wind, revealing the enormous enchanted map beneath.
Hands clasped behind his back, Bryan stood at the table's edge. His deep eyes moved slowly over the miniature buildings arranged across the map, and he waited, in quiet silence, for the knock that would come at his door.
"In light of Mr. Watson's outstanding performance during the Battle of Diagon Alley—Minister Bones and all the senior department heads originally wished to formally appoint Mr. Watson as Senior Deputy Minister for Magic."
The Ministry employee who had guided the unexpected late-night visitor through the Ministry's corridors spoke in a hushed, reverent tone. He had been speaking of Professor Watson for the entire walk with an expression of deep admiration on his face.
Now he stood before an office door, gesturing toward the plaque above the frame. Luna followed his gesture with her silver eyes.
British Wizarding Development Council
"—but Mr. Watson declined the Senior Deputy Minister position," the employee continued, lowering his voice slightly. "He said he was already fully occupied as Director of the Hogwarts Student Safety Office and had no wish for additional formal titles."
He paused, clearly finding this refusal impressive.
"But Minister Bones needed a proper official structure for Mr. Watson to advise the Ministry directly on critical matters. So, they reached a compromise solution. This Council was established. Its members include the Minister herself and every senior official in the Ministry. And Mr. Watson is the Chief Commissioner!"
"Thank you, sir."
Luna said, politely and without any particular expression. "I believe I can see him now—"
Click!
They had not yet raised a hand to knock. Neither of them had reached for the door, had made any motion toward it.
But before either of them could complete the thought of knocking, the door swung slowly open on its own, to the mild surprise of them both.
In the spare, almost austere office beyond the open door, a wizard stood beside the enormous enchanted map table, hands clasped behind his back. He faced the map rather than the door, his silhouette still and steady in the warm lamplight—as still and solid and apparently permanent as a mountain range seen from a distance.
Looking at him, Luna felt her heart give a faint, unsteady beat.
Whatever she felt was nothing compared to the Ministry employee standing beside her. The man was trembling with something between awe and overwhelm.
The wizard turned slowly. He looked at Luna, whose silver eyes held a glimmer of curious warmth, and smiled gently beckoning with one hand.
"Come in, Luna. There are no Wrackspurts hiding in this office."
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